Savior
by Ian G
Summary: Torn between the man he once was, and who he has become, Vincent Keller goes on a journey of self-discovery that will take him to the farthest reaches of the world and the deepest parts of his past. Worried about their beast in common, Catherine & Tori must work together to find him. But secrets long buried will bring danger to them all. *Takes place between episodes 2x11 and 2x12*
1. Nightmares & Broken Dreams

**Chapter One: Nightmares & Broken Dreams**

The night air was cold. His breath became an icy cloud before his eyes. It was pitch black, no moon or stars in the sky above, but he could see perfectly well. He barely felt the cold. There was warmth on his hands and he looked down at them. Blood covered his palms and dripped down his fingers to his sharp tipped claws.

Before him lay a long line of crumpled bodies, their faces obscured. Throats had been slashed, arms torn off, and hearts had been ripped out. His breathing was more like a pant as he took in the aroma of blood; he relished in the kill. But the hunt wasn't over. There was still one left. He could smell him.

He sped past the bodies and into the woods, his feet barely touching the ground. He stopped at a river and got real quiet, listening. A heartbeat, beating fast and full of terror, rang in his ears. His prey was close.

He leapt over the river, over a dozen feet across, as if it were a mere puddle. Through the trees he raced, snarling, his eyes burning red. A flicker of movement to the right and he pivoted ninety degrees, barely losing speed. The prey was before him, dodging around trunks and ducking under branches, desperate to get away. But it was no use. The hunt was over.

He looped around the man that was his prey and got in front of him. The man came skidding to a halt, tried to turn around, but he grabbed him by the front of his shirt and lifted him off the ground. With a roar he threw him into a tree. The man collapsed to the ground, whimpering pleading whispers. He stalked forward and looked down at his prey, at the weak specimen before him. As the man looked up, he saw his face. He saw... himself. Vincent Keller.

And suddenly he was looking up at the hulking beast standing above him. Claws outstretched, the beast roared and slashed – and everything went red.

Vincent bolted up in bed, breathing hard, his body covered in cold sweat. He looked at the prone figure lying next to him; Tori slept soundly, draped in the light of the moon that shone in through the window. Vincent wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed as he got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom.

He splashed some water on his face and looked into the mirror. He jumped back, startled, when he saw yellow eyes and pulsating veins. He had awoken in beast mode. Vincent took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He let the breath out slowly and his pulse calmed. When he opened his eyes again his reflection had returned to normal.

 _Normal_ , he thought harshly. What was normal? _I don't even know who I am anymore..._

He continued to stare at the face before him. He was a man of two halves; the man he had been before his memories were taken from him, and the man he had become since. In nearly every situation he had opposing thoughts and feelings. Everything within him was a contradiction.

Up until now, Vincent had greatly ignored the voice within him that had been growing louder with each memory that resurfaced, many of them involving Catherine. But without the man he once was, it was as if the Beast had filled the void. The sheer power was intoxicating and had nearly consumed him, smothering the voice of a Vincent past. He'd been following a singular, instinctual direction. A pathway to to discover more of his beastly heritage and not let anything, or anyone, get in his way.

But something had happened. He'd listened to the voice, like a cricket of conscience, and sacrificed his own safety, along with the gem he had been so desperate to find, to save the lives of others. Now it was as if a dam had broken within him and the voice was now a scream.

Leaving the bathroom, Vincent breathed deeply and ran his hands through his hair. He started back to the bed where Tori slept, then paused by the dresser as a photo caught his eye. It was of himself and, supposedly, his platoon back in Afghanistan. His memories, especially from that time, were all hazy and jumbled. The picture was one of several he had been looking at after getting back from the events at the precinct.

Vincent picked up the photo and stared at the man he had once been. He needed to find out who he was, to piece together the splintered memories. Before it was too late. Before he lost himself in the power of the Beast once again.

–

Catherine Chandler pulled her gray knit sweater closer around her as she looked out the kitchen window at the frigid morning scenery of Greenwich Village. A beep from behind her signaled her coffee was finished brewing and she turned to pour herself a cup. She grasped the steaming cup and took a sip, savoring its warmth.

She hadn't had much warmth in her life lately. Even the walls of her apartment had been drained of their color and warmth. After Vincent had been taken from her months ago she had done many things to distract herself from her despair, which included painting her entire apartment a pale blue, a subconscious reflection of her mood.

She'd envisioned that when she got Vincent back that he would move in with her and they would repaint together. Dreams of them cuddling together on the couch as they teasingly argued over paint samples had often drifted through her thoughts.

But those dreams had never come to be. Yes, she'd found Vincent. But he didn't even remember her because of a mysterious regimen of experiments, conducted by her own biological father, to erase Vincent's memories in an effort to control him. Bob Reynolds had used Vincent to take out the head of Muirfield and then do something Muirfield had never been able to accomplish: find the remaining beast experiments and kill them. But her father had underestimated Vincent, who turned on him and nearly killed him.

 _But I shot him_ , Catherine thought with a shake of her head. Shot the man she loved to save the father she hardly knew who had done such terrible things. It was one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do. One last desperate attempt to save Vincent from himself and the dark path he had been walking. For even though he had been slowly regaining his memories, he was no longer the man he once was.

 _No longer the man I fell in love with_.

He had become more beast than man.

Catherine walked to the couch and sat, setting her mug down on the coffee table. She pulled a shoebox toward her that she had pulled from the back of her closet late the night before. After Vincent had chosen his desire to kill over their love she'd been so heart broken. In most cases of a couple breaking up it was common to get rid of everything that reminded the breakee of the breaker. But because of the circumstances surrounding their relationship, Catherine barely had any mementos of their time together. It had been necessary not to keep anything around that could potentially lead Muirfield to Vincent.

 _But I couldn't get rid of these_. She pulled off the lid of the box. Inside were a collection of notes from Vincent. Every time she had received one she'd felt her heart flutter and had butterflies in her stomach, like she was a little school girl who'd gotten a note from her crush. Most were just a word or two. "Roof." "Fire escape." But each one held a distinct memory of the beginning of their whirlwind romance.

She smiled as she went through the notes. This was the man she had fallen in love with. This was the man she had thought she had lost forever. But now she was unsure.

Just the night before she and her entire precinct had been part of a hostage situation. A group of armed men had taken control of the building in an effort to steal a gem that everyone seemed to be after; one that had connections to Vincent's past, but Catherine's own as well. Vincent had shown up to take the gem for himself, seemingly with no concern for the lives of Catherine and her coworkers. But when Catherine's best friend, Tess, had a gun to her head, Vincent came through and saved them all. And even though Catherine thought it had been because she had pleaded to Vincent to save them, it turned out he had done it all of his own accord. Because it was the right thing to do.

Catherine sighed and placed the lid back on the box. _Now I don't know what to think_.

Was the man who risked his life to save others, the man she had fallen in love with, truly still in there? Or was this false hope? Ghosts that she was grasping at like how she tightly grasped her coffee mug for warmth; something that would fade away and turn cold once more.

Then there was Gabe. A former beast and a man that was doing everything he could to redeem himself for his past crimes. Who had made it clear he wanted to be with her, whenever she was ready. He was everything Catherine wished for Vincent to be. Someone kind and caring that wanted to protect her, but also trusted her to take care of herself.

Part of her resisted. Gabe had committed some terrible acts, including an attempt to kill Vincent. But after his beast side had died and Catherine had resuscitated him, Gabe had become a changed man. How could she crucify Gabe for his misdeeds, but at the same time continue to hold onto hope for Vincent? She couldn't, that was the truth. She cared for Gabe. But she wasn't ready to be with him. Not when she still felt so lost.

A harried knock at the door broke her deep contemplation, causing her to jump and slosh her coffee onto her favorite pair of pajama pants. It would most likely stain, but it'd be in good company with the assortment of ice cream, wine, and yes, coffee stains already present. Catherine dabbed in vain with a tissue, then gave up and went to answer the door.

"Tori!" she exclaimed with surprise. She suddenly felt very self-conscious in her stained pajama pants and glanced quickly in the mirror to her side in the hope that her hair wasn't too unkempt. "Uh, what brings you here?"

"It's Vincent. He's gone."


	2. Composure

**Chapter** **Two: Composure**

"What do you mean he's gone?" Catherine stepped aside to let Tori into the apartment. She noticed that Tori wasn't wearing any makeup and her clothes didn't match. Even with the short time she had known her, Catherine knew this was unusual behavior for the Windsor heiress.

"I mean gone!" Tori stopped in the middle of the room and turned to face Catherine. "When I woke up this morning he wasn't there-"

"He could have just gone out for a run, or..." Catherine grasped for another excuse to calm her heart that had started racing the moment Tori had said Vincent's name.

"And I found this." Tori held up a slightly crumpled piece of paper.

Catherine took it from her and unfolded it to find identical handwriting to that of the notes she had been going through just minutes before. "'I have to figure out who I am'," she read. "'I'm going back to the beginning'."

Tori held her arms tight around herself. "What does that mean?"  
"I'm not sure," Catherine said. She stared down at the words on the paper, as if there was a way to get them to reveal more information. She took a breath, trying to dampen what she felt inside and regain her composure. She had spent much time recently trying to move on from Vincent, but last night's events had sparked hope in her once again.

 _But I can't let Tori know that_ , she thought. So she looked back up at Tori and shrugged.

"Why are you coming to me with this?" she asked as she handed the note back.

Tori stuffed the note back into her pocket and said in an exasperated tone, "Well, you're a cop, aren't you?"

Catherine tilted her head. "Yeah... But, Tori, he left on his own. This isn't a missing person case."

Tori looked away and sighed. "Because as much as I hate to admit it, you know him better than I do."

"Maybe I used to, but not anymore," Catherine said, passing by Tori and picking up her coffee cup to take a sip. "This could just be another crazy mission of his, where people get hurt, or killed, and he doesn't care as long as he gets what he's after. I don't want any part of that."

It was possible that this had something to do with the gem. Something they had agreed to work together to find because it was connected to both of them. But it wouldn't surprise her if he'd just agreed to those terms to get any information she might have without giving any in return. Perhaps he'd gotten a lead and had run off after it, not bothering to tell her.

 _I'm such a fool..._

Tori grabbed her shoulder and spun Catherine around to face her, causing Catherine to spill her coffee again. "Okay, that's the second time you made me spill my coffee," Catherine exclaimed. "If I weren't in pajamas, you'd be racking up a pretty hefty dry cleaning bill." She snatched up the same tissue from before and started to dab at her pants.

"I know you still love him!"

Catherine froze.

"You can act like you don't care, but I know you do." The two locked eyes, Tori's filled with desperation. "Please. Help me."

Catherine glanced at the shoe box still sitting on the coffee table, then looked back to Tori and nodded slowly. "Alright. Let's go find him."

–

Bob Reynolds blinked as he stepped out into the yard at Riker's Prison, his vision taking a few moments to adjust to the sunlight from the constantly flickering fluorescent lights within the prison. He walked slowly through the yard amongst his orange clad compatriots. The air was cold, but fresh, and the single hour the prisoners were granted outside each day was a welcome change of pace no matter the weather.

Bob paused as a certain group of prisoners came into view. It was made up of several members of a drug cartel, two of them brothers, that Reynolds had a hand at putting in prison. Well, more like two hands. Even with his work as a part of Muirfield he'd still worked tirelessly as an FBI Agent, putting away dangerous people that were a threat to national security.

 _Which is what Muirfield became_ , he thought. The creation of beasts had been intended to help save lives; cut down the number of soldiers lost on the battlefield and help secure America's safety. But Muirfield had screwed everything up. They lost control of their creations and even lost tabs on several of them, allowing the monsters to run freely, causing havoc, terror, and death.

He'd held his tongue for years, believing in the work and hoping his superiors could rectify their mistakes. But the moment he discovered his daughter was involved with one of the beasts he made the decision to end it and take down Muirfield from the inside. And the best way to do that was to use their own work against them: Vincent.

Bob had known it would cost him. He'd had to do unspeakable things to accomplish his goals and knew very well he might end up in a place just like this. But it had all been worth it, even if he hadn't been able to finish his work by killing Vincent, the last loose thread. Still, life hadn't been very easy over the past month of his incarceration, thanks to those like the Marquez brothers and their friends that were stalking toward him.

"Gentlemen," he greeted them with a nod. "Nice day, isn't it?"

"Oh, lovely!" Riley Marquez said with mock joviality. His grin faded. "Especially since a few of the guards took their coffee break a bit early."

Bob glanced around, noticing a definitely lack of guards in the large yard. If anything happened there was no way the guards on the far side of the yard could intervene in time.

"That's right," Wes Marquez chimed in. "All alone."

The group formed a semi-circle around Bob, flexing muscles and cracking knuckles. Nowhere to run.

"Sorry, boys," a gravelly voice said behind Bob. "This one's mine."

Bob turned to the speaker, already knowing who it was; that voice was unmistakable. It was Vincent, dressed in an orange uniform like the rest of them. The Marquez brothers laughed and took a step towards Vincent, but something in his eyes made them stop.

 _Perhaps it's because his eyes are yellow_ , Bob surmised internally. It was something that would unnerve any man. _Not to mention the pulsating veins in his neck_.

Riley Marquez gulped. "We'll finish this later, then, Reynolds." The group dispersed, leaving Bob and Vincent alone.

There was a beat of silence between them. "I suppose I should thank you," Bob said finally.

Vincent tilted his head. "You sure about that?"

Bob nodded, keeping a calm and cool composure. "It's very likely they would have killed me. You, however? Not so likely."

Vincent's eyes flashed dangerously. "You sure about _that_?"

"Yes." Bob looked down at his nails, focusing his attention at a bit of dirt beneath his thumbnail. "If you wanted to kill me you would have done so weeks ago. You want something. Information, I suppose." He finished picking the dirt from beneath his nail and looked back up at Vincent. "Don't you?"

Vincent's nostrils flared, but he said nothing.

"Fine, I'll tell you what you want, whatever it may be," Bob continued. "On one condition. Tell me how my daughter's doing."

Vincent chuckled darkly. "What makes you think I know? Last time we were all together she shot me."

Bob nodded at that. "True. But I saw you two together. The way you looked at each other. I don't think even a bullet could come between you."

Again, Vincent said nothing, so Bob took it as confirmation.

"You know," he said, striding casually over to a bench to take a seat, "I'm really good at what I do. Wiping people's memories, I mean. It sort of became my speciality at Muirfield. In our line of work it was often necessary to make people forget things they had seen or heard, forget who they were completely. And I had a one hundred percent success rate, one hundred percent!" He looked up at Vincent, who was simply watching him with his hands clenched into fists. Bob knew he didn't have much time.

"But you," he continued, pointing at Vincent. "Somehow you fought back. Somehow the bond between you and Catherine was strong enough to awaken the memories within you." He smiled and looked down. "Reminds me of her mother and I," he said almost to himself. He looked back up at Vincent, matching the other's steely gaze. "So don't insult me by claiming that you haven't had any contact with her."

Vincent glanced away momentarily and Bob knew he had broken through.

"She's... fine," Vincent said finally.

Bob smiled slightly. "An answer fraught with the potential for mixed interpretations, but it will do." He leaned back, crossing his legs. "So. How can I help you?"

"The base I was stationed at in Afghanistan. Where Muirfield... made me. I need to know where it is."

"You don't remember?" Bob asked with a sly grin.

Vincent's eyes narrowed. "There are still... gaps."

"To be sure," Bod laughed. "Now why would you want to go there?"

"I need answers," Vincent said simply.

"Yet another statement open to interpretation."

"The coordinates," Vincent growled. "Give them to me."

Bob nodded. "We had a deal." He relayed the longitude and latitude, then said, "I'm sure you don't have to write that down."

"I'd watch your back around here," was Vincent's only response as he turned away. "Looks like I'm not the only one that wants you dead." And with that, he was gone, a swirl of displaced air left in the wake of his super speed.

Bob stared at the spot he had vacated, yet looking far beyond it in his mind's eye, chuckling to himself. "Answers won't be the only thing you find there, Vincent. Looks like I might get rid of you after all."


	3. A Step Behind

**Chapter Three: A Step Behind**

"Thanks, Tess," Catherine said into her phone as she and Tori pulled up to the marina in Cat's blue mustang. "Just make sure Gabe doesn't know what I'm doing. I don't want him to read anything into this."

"Should he?" came Tess' husky voice through the phone.

Catherine glanced sidelong at Tori, who was watching her. "No, of course not. Look, I gotta go, we're at the houseboat. I'll let you know if we find anything." She hung up and proceeded to get out of the car.

"I don't know what we're doing here," Tori said as they entered the houseboat. "Obviously, he's not here."

Catherine walked slowly walking through the kitchenette, trailing her fingers along the counter as she looked around. "Well, I'm a cop, aren't I?" Her tone was slightly mocking and she glanced at Tori with a slight smile. "I'm looking for clues. Other things that might tell us where Vincent went."

After a few minutes of searching downstairs, the two headed up to the bedroom. It made Catherine uncomfortable being there, seeing the bed mussed and knowing what probably went on there. She tried to keep her eyes averted as she searched the room.

"Did Vincent say anything to you recently?" Catherine asked. "Anything that might help us?"

Tori shrugged from where she stood unmoving by the bed, like she was guarding territory. "He's been talking a lot about not knowing who 'Vincent Keller' is anymore. I've been trying to get him to move on. Let the past go and create a new life."

"With you," Catherine muttered quietly, even though she knew Tori could hear her.

"If he wants me there, then yes," Tori shot back. After Catherine didn't respond, she said, "Look, I know you don't like me. I don't really like you. But I am trying to help Vincent."

Catherine couldn't help laughing. "By what? Getting him on talk shows and parading around with him like he's an accessory? You have no idea what being a part of Vincent's life entails. It takes responsibility. Which is something you've probably never had to deal with in your life."

"You don't know anything about me!"

Catherine shook her head and turned away. The fight reminded her of how rejected she had been feeling. She had invested and sacrificed so much after meeting Vincent. Her life had become a constant battle to protect him, but none of that seemed to matter now. She'd been left behind and alone in a world that didn't exist anymore. _What am I even doing here?_

Her eyes fell on a picture that lay atop the dresser. It was of Vincent and several of his fellow soldiers back in Afghanistan. She picked it up. She'd seen it before. Vincent had shown it to her, sharing memories and stories of his friends, back at the very beginning of their relationship.

"The beginning," Catherine whispered. "I know where he's going."

–

"I told him you were sick, which just made him want to bring you soup. Made me want to swoon and hurl at the same time." Tess finished swirling some sugar into her coffee as she relayed the news to Catherine over the phone. She'd had to make the pot herself, as the precinct was pretty barren. A hostage situation the night previously had led to many people getting the day off, with neighboring precincts filling in on patrols. Still, a skeleton crew was left to man the 125th, adhering to the old adage "crime never sleeps."

 _But you'd think they'd give the girl who got a gun to her head the day off_ , Tess thought as she made her way down the stairs to the main level. The interrogation room where Tori had thrown one of the hostage takers through its window was blocked off and a janitor sniffled as he tried to clean a blood stain off of the floor.

The front desk clerk, Freddy DeMarco, had been the single police casualty of the situation, but his loss had hit the entire precinct hard. Less than a year from retirement and such a sweet man. Always had a smile, and frequently some goodie baked by his wife, for Tess. She'd loved him like her own father. Deaths like his were the hardest part of the job. She made a mental note to stop by and see his wife after her shift was done.

Tess tuned back in to Catherine worrying about Gabe stopping by her apartment with soup and getting suspicious when she wasn't there. "Don't worry about it," Tess said. "I explained to him that he would be risking his life if he barged in on you with no warning when you look like crap."

"Ah, perpetuating the idea that women are oh so vain about their appearance."

Tess dropped onto the chair at her desk, taking a swig from her coffee. "Hey, in cases like that, it's true."

"Touche."

"Is that Cat?"

Tess spun in her chair to see Gabe standing there. "Uh, yeah." She faked a cough. "She's real sick."

Gabe raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you the one coughing?"

"... She's that contagious?"

"Nice," Catherine said through the phone.

"And you're trying to get out of work by proxy?" Gabe asked.

"Maybe. Is it working?"

"No. Get back to work." Gabe turned as one of the office's ITs approached him. "And tell Cat I hope she feels better," he said over his shoulder.

"I gotta go," Tess said to Catherine. "Keep me posted on your..." She glanced around to see if Gabe was still in hearing range. "Sickness." She hung up before she could make a comment about how Catherine's continued obsession with Vincent was like a sickness.

 _Wonder if I'll ever meet a guy I'm that obsessed with._

–

"What do you mean he's gone?!" J.T. yelled when Catherine and Tori showed up at his place with the news.

"Do you people not know the definition of the word 'gone'?" Tori muttered as she dropped onto the leather couch in the center of the spacious room. J.T. ignored her, looking to Catherine for an explanation.

"He left a note saying he's going back to the beginning," Catherine said. She pulled out the picture of Vincent's platoon. "I think he means he's going back here. To the base in Afghanistan where Muirfield injected him. I was hoping you'd know where that is, exactly."

J.T. took the picture from Catherine. Vincent had sent the photo to him years ago, along with the last letter J.T. had gotten from his life-long friend before he'd been told Vincent was MIA. That had been one of the worst days of his life, thinking Vincent was dead. J.T. had blamed himself, even then, when he thought it was his fault Vincent was in a certain place at a certain time to possibly be killed. For it was he who had given Muirfield Vincent's name for their experiments. Even though he had been overjoyed when Vincent had shown up alive at his door months later, his guilt worsened when he learned what Muirfield had really been up to. What they had done to him.

 _Vincent may have been better off dead_. He hated himself for thinking that, but his friend had suffered more than anyone ever deserved.

"J.T.?" Catherine broke through his thoughts.

"Oh, sorry." He shook his head as he gave the photo back. "No, I never knew exactly where he was stationed. They kept that pretty secret." He shrugged. "Frankly, I'm not sure even Vincent knew. Even before your dad put the amnesia-whammy on him, his memories of that place have always been pretty fuzzy."

"My dad," Catherine gasped. "He would know."

"You think Vincent paid him a visit?" J.T. asked. "That wouldn't be good, considering what happened last time..."

He wouldn't say it, but he was still pretty angry at Catherine for shooting his best friend. He understood why she did it, of course. He might have done the same thing. But he had spent the last ten years of his life, sacrificing everything, to protect Vincent. Someone puts a bullet in his best friend, no matter the reason, he's going to be a bit peeved.

"Maybe we should, too," Tori chimed in, standing up. Her eyes flashed. "I'll get what we need out of him."

"As much as I don't relish the idea of seeing my father, she's right," Catherine said, biting her lip.

"No need," J.T. said, making his way over to his laptop that was surrounded by piles of his never ending research and vials of experiments. "I decided to keep an eye on Daddy Dearest, just in case, and tapped a permanent sleeper feed into Rikers' security system."

"I'm going pretend I didn't hear that admission of illegal activity," Cat snarked as she followed J.T. and looked over his shoulder as he worked.

A minute later they had live video running from the security cameras at Rikers. With a few more taps at the keyboard, J.T. ran the video backwards, flicking through different feeds throughout the prison.

"There, stop!" Catherine pointed at the screen that showed the workout yard. She could see her father sitting on a bench in the background, talking to someone with their back to the camera that looked a lot like Vincent. "Can we get a closer camera?"

J.T. nodded and brought up a camera that showed both Reynolds' and Vincent's faces. By the looks of things, Reynolds was doing most of the talking, but there was no audio.

"How are we supposed to know what they're saying?" Tori asked. "I know I didn't spend my Friday nights learning how to read lips."

"Luckily, I did," J.T. said. He glanced at the two women, who were looking at him with pity in both their eyes. "I did it by creating a lip reading computer program, so I'd say it was time well spent!" Feeling justified in this instance at his lack of a social life, J.T. linked the video to his program and sat back, smugly satisfied as a robotic computer voice started to speak.

"The base I was stationed at in Afghanistan," the voice spoke for Vincent. "Where Muirfield made me. I need to know where it is."

"Looks like I was right," Catherine said. She grabbed a pen and a piece of paper, writing down the coordinates her father gave to Vincent. "Great. The timestamp shows this was just over an hour ago, so he doesn't have too much of a head star-" She broke off as the computer voice continued.

"Answers won't be the only thing you find there, Vincent. Looks like I might get rid of you after all."

"What did he mean by that?" Tori asked.

Catherine shook her head. "I don't know, but we have to hurry."

"How to you expect to get there?" J.T. questioned. "It's not that easy to get a commercial flight to Afghanistan, especially if you don't want anyone to know about it."

Catherine was silent, at a loss. After a moment, Tori spoke up, "I think I know a way."


	4. Remembering The Fallen

**Chapter Four**

"Beast Chic Barbie has her own jet?" Tess laughed into her phone as she turned off the ignition to her car. "Is it pink?"

"Thankfully, no," Catherine responded. "But it's like a fourteen hour flight! I can barely stand to be in the same room with her for five minutes."

"Look, I may not be her biggest fan, either, but maybe you should cut her some slack. Vincent's choices were his own. You can't blame her."

"I know, you're right," Catherine conceded. "I just don't kow why she's so attatched to him. Sure, he saved her life, but who hasn't he saved? He saved you last night, you aren't obsessed with him."

Tess had to admit that she hadn't been president of the Vincent Keller fan club, but the beast boy had scored major points when he had saved her from having her birth certificate and death certificate stamped with the same date. Still, she wasn't comfortable with the continued hold Vincent had over her best friend. "No, I'm not," she said. "But I think you may still be."

"What? No. I'm-"  
"Moving on, yeah yeah, everyone take a shot."

"Hey!"

"I'm sorry, but people that are moving on do not chase their ex to the other side of the world on a jet with said ex's current... whatever she is. Vincent left on his own, he didn't ask for help."

"But he doesn't know he needs it. I told you what Reynolds said. Who knows what kind of trap Vincent might be heading into?"

Tess sighed. "Or that you might be heading into. Please be careful."

"I will." There was some noise on Catherine's end. "Hey, I gotta go. We're about to board. Give Maggie my condolences, please, and tell her I'll come see her soon."  
"I will. Bye." Tess hung up and sighed again as she dropped her phone into her purse. She had decided that she couldn't wait to see Maggie until after her shift, so she was using her lunch break to visit the new widow. Besides, it got her away from the precinct and having to hide Cat's whereabouts from Gabe.

She got out of her car, boquet of flowers in hand, and went up the steps of the brownstone the DeMarcos had lived in for thirty years. The door opened just moments after she rang the bell and there was Maggie. A woman that, while getting on in years, was always so full of life. That is, until today; her skin was pale and her gaze was empty and distant. The sight made Tess' heart hurt.

"Oh, Maggie, I'm so sorry."

"Tess." Maggie's eyes lit up slightly, like she had just recognized her. "Oh, my dear, thank you for coming." She wrapped Tess in a hug.

A few minutes later Tess was seated in Maggie's living room with a steaming cup of tea in her hands. The room was small, but felt cozy. Tess had been to the brownstone a few times when the DeMarcos had hosted parties and had always felt so safe and at home in that room. It reminded her of the house she had grown up in. Also familiar were the pictures of policemen that hung on the walls. Like Tess, Freddy came from a long line of family members that had been a part of the force. It was another reason why she had felt so connected to Freddy.

Tess glanced at Freddy's empty armchair, then quickly looked down at the mug of tea in her hands. "I should be the one making you tea," she said.

"Oh, my dear," Maggie chuckled. "We both know you can't make anything. Not even tea."

Tess smiled. It was nice to see there was still some life left in the woman, beneath all the sadness.

"Fred can't cook worth a darn, either." Maggie paused and closed her eyes. "Couldn't, I mean." She took a deep, shuddering breath and Tess' heart broke.

The room got real quiet, with the only sound being the ticking of the clock on the mantle. Tess was never good in situations like this. She wasn't exactly great at expressing her emotions. Her go-to was snark and sarcasm, which was fine when it was her own feelings she was covering up. But when someone else was hurting, she didn't have a clue outside of copious amounts of food and booze. She doubted Maggie would be in the mood for beer and tacos.

"I can't believe he's gone," Maggie whispered, breaking the silence. "And such a senseless death."

"No, Maggie, no," Tess countered. "Let me tell you something. When I was new to the force there was an armed robbery of a bank. We chased the guy back to his apartment, had the place surrounded, we thought we had him. But it turns out he had friends and they had a ton of guns." She closed her eyes as the memory of that night came back to her. It had been cold, her fingers had been numb, and she'd been terrified. Tess grasped her mug tighter.

"Three cops ended up dead that night," she continued. "And I was devestated. I didn't know what the point of it all was. I felt like those cops had died for nothing." Tess opened her eyes and looked at Maggie, who was gripping the arm of her chair, her eyes filled with tears. She wasn't looking at Tess, but at Freddy's vacant armchair.

"Freddy came and found me that night. I was at a diner, alone. He'd been worried about me. Gave me that red checkered handkerchief he always had and let cry my eyes out." She bit her lip, trying to hold off her own tears. "After I'd calmed down a bit he said to me, 'No cop dies for nothing. We're all here to make the world a better place. It's a hard job, but it's worth it.' Then he patted my arm, gave me a cookie that I'm sure you baked, and told me everything would be okay." Tess reached across and took Maggie's hand in her own. "It's going to be okay."

Maggie smiled weakly and squeezed Tess' hand. "Thank you."

The two sat for a few minutes more, quietly sipping their tea. Then the doorbell rang. Maggie started to get up, but Tess stopped her. "No, I'll get it." She went to the door and opened it to find Joe Bishop, her former boss and former lover, standing before her. "Joe," she said, startled.

"Tess. What are you...?"

"I'm here to see Maggie."

"Of course. Me too."

"So you heard-"

"Yes. Are you-?"

"I'm fine."

"Good."

They stood silently awkward for a moment before Tess remembered Joe wasn't there to see her and stepped aside to let him in. "Maggie's in the living room."

Joe nodded and walked past her and into the living room. "Maggie." Joe wrapped the woman in a hug as she stood to greet him. "I'm so sorry for your loss. Freddy was a great man."

"Thank you, Joe."

"I'll let you two be alone," Tess said, picking up her coat. "My lunch hour is just about over."

"Thank you so much for coming, dear," Maggie said, hugging her. "It means so much to me. Will I see you at the funeral?"

"Of course." She pulled away, said a quick goodbye to Joe, and bolted.

Tess was almost to her car when Joe came running after her. "Tess, wait! I think we should talk."

"I have to get back to work," Tess said, keeping her eyes focused on her car keys.

"Meet me for dinner tomorrow. Please? I'd really like to talk to you."

Tess looked back up at Joe to see his pleading gaze. Their break-up, if you could even call it that, had been so sudden. There had been no closure. She had spent months moving on and burying her feelings. _But I can't just shut off my heart_. Tess sighed internally as she realized she was just like Catherine.

"Fine," she gave in. "But just dinner. If you run off to a desert on the other side of the world, I am not coming after you."

"What?"

"Never mind. Pick me up at seven." She then quickly got in her car and sped away as fast as she could.


	5. Ambush

**Chapter Five: Ambush**

A cloud of dust trailed behind Vincent as he streaked across the Afghani desert. He had stowed away in the cargo hold aboard a military supply aircraft and landed less than an hour ago at Bagram Airfield. It had been a long flight, giving him ample time to to think, to question, to hope. He had no idea if this journey would warrant the risk or yield any answers. But, like his mother had always told him, "When you lose something, retrace your steps."

It was one of the few memories of his life that was clear. Nearly everything else was just snippets. It was like he had picked up a book of his life and had merely skimmed through it, with some chapters standing out, but most a blur of pages flipping too fast to make sense of anything.

He'd decided to take his mother's advice and retrace his steps to the focal point of all the chaos in his life; the point at which he had become a harbinger of the beast. Where his very persona had been split in two. Something within Vincent told him that the search for who he was would start there.

As he crested a hill, it was suddenly before him: the military base where Muirfield had injected him and his fellow unsuspecting compatriots. Or, at least, what was left of it. The five buildings that had made up the base were now scorched, hollowed out shells. He barely recognized it. Although he didn't know if that was because of the base's current state, or the state of his memory.

Vincent walked slowly between the buildings. To his left was the hangar where he could see the mangled remains of a helicopter, partially buried in sand that had built up over years of sandstorms that frequently tore through this area. To his right was the combo training center and mess hall, while beyond was the barracks and a couple office buildings.

He stepped through the doorway into the training center and looked around. Hazy images of his friends, their faces blurred, passed through his mind as his eyes skimmed over melted weight lifting equipment and splintered tables. He could almost hear the clamor and clatter that had once filled the room on a daily basis. But other than ghostly images, there was nothing there.

 _What did I expect to find?_ he asked himself. Of course everything would have been destroyed. He closed his eyes as the grisly memories of that night resurfaced. The night that something had gone wrong; terribly wrong...

He was in his bunk, reading a letter from home, when he heard a crash in the bathroom. Vincent went to see what happened and found Zach, his friend from home and another member of the Muirfield experiment, standing before a shattered mirror. His shoulders were hunched, his breath heavy, and his hands gripped the sides of the sink. His left hand was bloody, bits of glass imbedded in his skin.

"Dude, you alright?" Vincent asked.

With a gutteral roar, Zach ripped the sink from the wall, water bursting from the broken pipes, and heaved it across the room. Vincent jumped back as Zach turned toward him. Zach's face was bulging and deformed, his eyes black. He roared again and leapt at Vincent. Vincent tried to defend himself, but Zach was insanely strong. He lifted Vincent off the ground and threw him clear across the room they shared.

Vincent gasped for air, the wind knocked out of him. He knew he should feel terrified, but instead he felt angry. Very angry. The rage built up within him and he felt as if something was tearing at his insides. He looked at his hand and saw his fingernails turn dark and elongate into claws. He felt his entire body changing. But he wasn't afraid. He was running on pure instinct now. And his instincts told him there was another predator in the room.

Vincent got to his feet as Zach came at him again. The two collided in the center of the room, roaring and slashing. It wasn't long before the door to the room burst open and soliders rushed in with guns raised. But it was useless. The men were dead in seconds. Vincent threw one of their limp bodies into Zach, knocking him down. Vincent sniffed the air. There were more predators close by.

Vincent opened his eyes. From there the memories became dark and muddled, a fog of screams, fire, and death. The beasts had come out that night and torn the place apart. In response, Muirfield had laid waste to the entire compound. They had set the fires with the intention of erasing any evidence of what had gone on there. Vincent had escaped. He still didn't know how, or where he'd gone. Those memories were still out of his reach.

He sighed as he realized he would find no answers here. As meticulous as Muirfield was, they wouldn't have left anything behind. "A dead end," he whispered. He turned away and started to walk out, but stopped short. He sniffed the air. Someone had been here. The scent was very faint. Possibly months old. But it was the scent of blood, which doesn't fade very easily. Especially to the nose of a predator.

Vincent followed the scent to the far side of the room. In the corner was a spot where sand that had gotten into the building was not as deep. This spot had been cleaned off not too long ago. With his superior vision Vincent was able to see a thin outline in the floor. He wiped away the sand and felt along the line in the floor until he found a latch. The latch was the source of the blood scent. Someone had cut themselves. Vincent flipped the latch and the floor dropped down: a trap door.

Grated metal steps led down into a long corridor. Flickering florescent lights came to life as Vincent slowly made his way to a door with a cracked window at the end of the hall. It was already partially ajar and swung open with ease. Vincent stepped through into a large room with four long ink black tables that were covered in dust. Broken beakers, vials, and scraps of paper laid atop the tables and scattered across the floor. One wall was taken up by a mulitude of blank video monitors. The rest of the room was empty.

A red beam of light suddening came from the ceiling and swept over Vincent. A moment later a computerized voice spoke, "Cross Species DNA detected" and the wall of monitors lit up. The word "Chimera" flashed across the screens for a split second before being replaced by the image of an oriental woman in a white lab coat.

"Hello," the woman spoke. "My name is Dr. Vanessa Chandler."

Vincent's mouth dropped open slightly. It was Catherine's mother. The woman who had personally injected Vincent with the beast serum.

"If you are seeing this video, that means you have cross species DNA and survived Muirfield's attempted extermination." Vanessa smiled slightly. "I made this video in the hope that there would be survivors. You must have so many questions."

 _No kidding_ , Vincent thought.

"I want to apoligize for all that you have gone through," Vanessa said, her eyes sorrowful. "But you need to know that you are special. There is so much more to your origin than you know. You are-" The screens suddenly flickered and Vanessa's image became distorted. A new face appeared. That of Bob Reynolds. "Hello. Sorry to interrupt." Reynolds chuckled. "I thought one of you might come back here. I found the hidden scanning device and secret video and decided to use them for my own devices."

Vincent snarled at the wall of faces, rage welling up inside him. Reynolds had already taken everything from him and now stripped away the hope of any answers Vanessa's message may have revealed. "I'm gonna kill him." Vincent paused. But why would Reynolds willfully send Vincent here if he knew Vincent would find the video? He had to know the reaction it would cause. _He had to know I would come after him. Unless..._

"I have plans to kill all of you, so this may not be necessary," Reynolds recorded image continued. "But I always cover my bases." Reynolds face became solemn and his gaze dropped. "You're monsters," he said quietly. He looked up into the camera once more. "You deserve to die."

The screens blinked out and the lights shut off, plunging the room into darkness. Vincent stood frozen in the silence. Then, from somewhere in the pitch black, came a sound...

 _Beeep... beep... beep... BEEP!BEEP!BEEP!_

–

Catherine wiped her brow and grimaced at her reflection in the rear view mirror of the jeep she and Tori had rented after touching down at the airport. The flight aboard Tori's jet had been one of the most uncomfortable things of Catherine's life, and she had quite a list of them. The entire fourteen hour flight had been filled with awkward silences. She had been afraid the confined space would have forced them to talk, but the not talking had been worse.

Catherine really didn't know how to feel about Tori. Tess was right that Tori had done nothing wrong and didn't deserve her scorn. Even though Catherine didn't agree with all of Tori's choices when it came to Vincent, it wasn't any of her business. Her wrath was misdirected, she knew that, but it was hard not to have some feelings of resentment toward Tori. Especially when she didn't understand Tori's feelings for Vincent.

It was one thing for Catherine herself to have fallen for Vincent. He had been a completely different person when she met him. He was strong, yet gentle. His compassion for others superceded his need to protect himself, even when his life was in constant danger. But Tori only knew the Vincent that was selfish and dangerous, his behavior erratic. _What does she see in him?_

Catherine glanced at Tori. It didn't help that the Windsor heiress was able to step off a plane and look like she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Meanwhile, Catherine was sweaty, her hair stuck to her forehead, and was pretty sure her deoderant had stopped working hours before.

"Take a right," Tori said. She had a GPS in her hand that they had programmed with the coordinates that Catherine's father had given to Vincent.

Catherine shook her head, pulling herself out of her thoughts. "Uh, there's no right to the right," she said with a frown. "There's only sand."

"Well this says to go right," Tori said.  
"Are you sure you're reading it correctly?"

"Of course I am! It's not like it's an upside down map!"

"Okay, it's just-" Catherine stopped as something caught her eye. Across the dunes a plume of black smoke rose into the sky. "Oh my god," she breathed, whipping the wheel to the right. The jeep tore off the road toward the source of the smoke.

It wasn't long before they reached the base. Four out of the five buildings were nothing but ashen husks from fires long gone. But the last was in full blaze and had collapsed inward, sinking into the sand. Catherine and Tori leapt from the vehicle and ran toward to mass of flaming debris.

"Vincent!" Catherine screamed, stopping at the perimeter and looking frantically around. Her thoughts were wild and she vowed revenge against her father if anything had happened to Vincent. "I can't see him!" She squinted, trying to see through the thick clouds of smoke. She tried to get closer, but a wave of heat made her step back. "The fire's too strong!" she called to Tori, coughing as the smoke got into her lungs. "I can't get any closer!"

"I can!" Tori's eyes flared and she walked confidently into the swirling ash and fire.

Catherine lost sight of her almost instantly. She felt completely helpless. Her focus was so intent on trying to catch a glimpse of Tori or Vincent that she didn't hear the sound of several trucks pulling up behind her. A dozen Afghani men got out, weapons in hand. They surrounded Catherine in a semi-circle, then screamed something at her in pashto. Catherine spun around to find multiple guns pointed at her head. What seemed to be the leader screamed at her once again, motioning with his weapon. Catherine couldn't understand him, but slowly raised her hands into the air.

A vicious roar rent the air and Tori emerged from the smoke in a blur a motion, her red hair flying behind her, ash swirling. She was on the men before they could even blink, snapping the neck of one and sending another reeling with a kick to his abdomen. The men turned their weapons on Tori, who responded with another roar. Her eyes were ablaze and red veins spidered across her china doll features.

Catherine took the opportunity given and pulled her handgun from its holster attached to her belt. With two shots in quick succession, one to the arm, then one to the leg, she brought down the man who had shouted at her. She aimed for another, but he turned his machine gone on her, forcing her to dive for cover behind a crumbling wall. The odds weren't good. Even with Tori, there were just too many of them. She didn't know what had happened to Vincent, but she knew they had to get out of there.

"Tori, run!" Catherine screamed. She fired several shots, trying to draw the attention of the men away from Tori. They obliged and she ducked as the wall was pelted with bullets. She fired another three shots blindly before taking a chance and bolting for the jeep. Grabbing the door, she launched herself over the side and into the driver's seat. Revving the engine, she didn't even flinch as Tori suddenly appeared in the passenger seat with a woosh of air, then stamped down on the gas pedel, propelling them forward as the sound of bullets rang out behind them.

They didn't get far. A bullet punctured the left rear wheel and the jeep careened wildly before the wheels got caught in the sand and the entire thing flipped over, spiraling through the air before crashlanding upside down with a sickening crunch.


	6. Someone To Talk To

**Chapter Six: Someone To Talk To**

J.T. stared at the blank page before him. It was the same page he had been staring at for the past two hours. As the salary of a college professor was only just enough to pay his bills, J.T. sometimes sublimated his income by freelancing to science magazines. Not that he had much time between his day job and moonlighting as the sidekick of a superhuman, so it wasn't much of a cash boost. Luckily, these days he only had himself to pay for after ten years of supporting Vincent as well. The man may have erased Vincent's memory and tried to have him killed, but it was thanks to Reynolds that Vincent had his own home and a bank account with enough money to live off of for at least a year.

 _Still, I'd trade my fuller wallet for having my friend back the way he was before any day._

Even though he kept it to himself, Catherine wasn't the only one who had lost Vincent. J.T. had lost his best friend. Sure, Vincent had gotten some of his memories back, but there was still a disconnection between them. For years, J.T. had been Vincent's sole confidant, and vice versa. Even after Catherine had entered the picture, the two buddies still relied on each other for advice. Yet now, Vincent had become quite the lone wolf. When the two did talk it was mostly beast related. Gone were the days of bro talks over video games and beer.

Truth was, J.T. was lonely. He had given up a decade of his life to protect Vincent, losing contact with family and friends. His relationship with Sara had been a bust. With Vincent now off chasing beasts and ancient gems, J.T. didn't really have anyone to talk to.

But he always kept an extra beer in the fridge, just in case his old buddy dropped by. And even if their friendship wasn't what it used to be, J.T. would always be there for Vincent.

It was thoughts of his friend that were the cause of his writer's block. Turns out, waiting for word about whether your best friend is dead or not was just not very conducive to scientific theorems. He had taken care of the Rikers video feed, so there would be no evidence of the talk between Vincent and Reynolds, or Vincent's superhuman exit, and had volunteered to stay behind on this side of the pond in case Vincent returned before Catherine and Tori found him. Now there was nothing to do but wait. … He hated waiting.

There was a loud knock on the door, making J.T. jump. He glanced at his watch and frowned. It was too early for the pizza he had ordered to be there. He hoped they hadn't messed up his order.

"You're not the pizza guy," J.T. said after opening the door to find Tess.

"What an astute observation," Tess said sarcastically. "That college should be paying you more."

"Sorry, I just wasn't expecting anyone else. D-do you want to come in?"

"Thanks." Tess entered and meandered around the room, biting her lip. "So, uh, have you heard anything from Cat?"

J.T. shook his head. "No. Her cell phone won't work there. I could have rigged something up that could piggyback off the satellite network, but they were in a hurry to leave. How's the cover with Gabe going?"

"As well as it can be," Tess shrugged. "The guy went to all the fancy schools, though, so I'm not sure how much longer he'll buy the whole thing."

"I'm sure you can handle it. You were a Cub Scout. They teach you to prepare for all contingencies."

"Yeah, if he were bad weather or a bee I'd be all set." The two of them grinned at one another, but then the moment turned awkward and they both turned away.

"So..." J.T. stuck his hands in his pockets. He was unsure how to act around Tess these days. The two hadn't spent much time together, especially alone, since their Thanksgiving quasi-romantic rendezvous. J.T. had felt pretty rejected when Tess had wanted to act like the event had never happened. He thought they'd had something... but maybe not. "Uh, is that all you came here for? An update on the whole 'Mr. Keller Goes to Afghanistan' situation?"

"Yes. No." Tess shook her head. "Look, Cat's not here and I really need to talk to someone. I know things have been kinda weird between us, but I don't really have any other friends. Growing up chasing after my brothers, I didn't really develop the best social skills."

J.T. nodded. "I know how you feel. Pull up a couch," he said, going over to the fridge. He snagged two beers and handed one to Tess. "The doctor is in."

Tess smiled and took the beer. "Thanks." She sat down and took a sip from the bottle. "I saw Joe yesterday."

"Whoa."

"Yeah. Not only that, but I agreed to have dinner with him tonight."

A green eyed monster threatened to take J.T. over, but he repressed it. Instead, he used the go-to line for therapists. "And how do you feel about that?"

"I'm freaking out, of course!" Tess gestured wildly and some of her beer sloshed onto the couch. "Oh, shoot, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, it's not real leather," J.T. waved a dismissive hand. "Why are you freaking out? Do you want to get back together with him?" _Please say no_.

"I don't know. Our relationship wasn't exactly what fairy tales are made of." Tess sighed and adopted a far off look as she stared out the window. "But I loved him. I've tried so hard to let go since he left, but if he asked me to get back together... I don't know if I have the strength to say no."

"You're the strongest person I know," J.T. said.

Tess laughed humorlessly and took a swig of her beer. "Yeah, right. Have you seen Vincent's biceps?"

"You know that's not what I mean." He locked eyes with Tess, letting her know how sincere he was being.

"Thanks."

J.T. nodded. Clamping down on the jealousy within himself, along with the part of himself that wanted to lean over and kiss Tess, he said, "Even if you say yes, it wouldn't be a lack of strength. Following your heart is never the weak option."

They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their beers. "You're a good friend, J.T.," Tess said quietly.

"I know," J.T. said with a sigh. Tess glanced at him and he deflected with a playful smile. "Here's to good friends," he said, raising his beer bottle. Tess shook her head slightly, but raised her bottle in return and they both drank.

 _Maybe one day something more_ , J.T. thought hopefully.


	7. Who Are You?

**Chapter Seven: Who Are You?**

The water rippled from the cacophony of a helicopter that swooped overhead, its searchlight sweeping across the surface. The helicopter circled over the river before it moved on, the water becoming still once more. Beneath the surface a pair of yellow eyes opened. Vincent rose slowly out of the water. A stream of blood from a jagged cut on his face mixed with the water and fell in ruddy brown droplets from his chin. He looked to the sky at the receding light from the helicopter. It had been hours since the call for extermination had come, but Vincent had managed to evade Muirfield's search parties.

He swam to the shore and collapsed upon it, exhausted.

 _What's happening to me?_ he wondered for the hundredth time. The rage he had initially felt in his encounter with Zach had subsided, to be replaced by confusion and fear; the instinct to run.

"Who are you?" a voice said.

Vincent rolled onto his back, breathing heavily. "That's what I want to know," he muttered.

"You don't know who you are?"

Vincent opened his eyes. He was in a bed, in a sparsely furnished room. Morning sunlight streamed in through a window, setting the white stone wall ablaze. Next to the bed a young afghani man sat upon a wooden chair, watching him. Vincent leapt to his feet, keeping his back to the wall.

"Who are you? How did I get here?" His last memory was of the Muirfield laboratory exploding around him as he used all his speed to try and escape.

"My name is Aamir. My brothers and I found you," the man said, rising to his feet. Vincent backed away and Aamir slowly held up his hands. "It's alright. I don't mean you any harm. We heard the explosion, saw the smoke. That place is forbidden, but..." He smiled crookedly. "We are often too curious for our own good." His smile faded. "What were you doing there?"

"Looking for answers," Vincent said, simply.

Aamir narrowed his eyes at Vincent and tilted his head slightly. His gaze moved to the wall behind Vincent and his eyes suddenly widened. Vincent turned around. There was a mural on the wall. The paint was peeling and the color was faded, but the picture was still clear, portraying the face of a man. The man's eyes were yellow and a jagged scar ran down the length of his cheek.

"You're him."

The image of a barreling subway train and Catherine's voice echoed through his mind and Vincent spun around to face Aamir.

"You're him," Aamir repeated, awestruck. "Aren't you?"

Vincent shook his head slightly, unsure of what to say.

"You came to my village when I was a child," Aamir whispered. "Nearly ten years ago. You saved me. You saved all of us."

–

 _Drip... drip... drip..._

The steady sound was like a sledge hammer that slowly brought Catherine back to consciousness and she groaned as her brain tapped back into the pain her body was in. Her wrists itched as something scratched against them and, when she couldn't move, came to the realization that she was tied up. She opened her eyes and found that she was in a small and dusty room. There were no windows; a single lightbulb swinging slightly on a chain was the only source of illumination. Against one wall there were several splattered, rust red stains. Not a good sign.

As she had surmised, Catherine was tied tightly to a chair. Directly behind her she could hear someone breathing and she turned her head to see Tori was tied in a similar fashion to a chair that was tied to her own, yet the redhead was still unconscious. She was about to try to rouse Tori, when a sudden movement in the shadows caught her eye.

"I'm glad to see you're awake," came a heavily accented voice. She couldn't see the face of the man it belonged to; the dim light didn't reach that far.

"Who are you?" Catherine asked.

"I think the real question is, who are _you_?" said the man. There was the quick flare of a cigarette being lit, followed by a puff of smoke. "You come sneaking around my home and you have the audacity to question who _I_ am? How American of you."

By fact that he knew she was American with only the three words she had spoken, Catherine assumed he and his men had already searched them and found their identification. She wasn't going to play dumb, but she wasn't going to give up any information she didn't have to. "Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?"

The man chuckled and exhaled more smoke. "True. I know _who_ you are. Detective Catherine Chandler, citizen of the shining city of New York. And Tori Windsor." He flicked a bit of ash in Tori's general direction. "But I don't know what you want... Or what you are. Or, at least, what she is."

"She's an heiress to one of the richest businessmen in America. You'd do well to keep her alive for the ransom." Catherine knew she couldn't avoid the real subject for long, but it was best to make it clear from the get-go that there was value to keeping them alive. _Or at least Tori_ , she thought. The girl wasn't her favorite person in the world, but Catherine was still a cop and had a duty to keeping others safe.

"Oh, you mean Curt Windsor?" Another chuckle as Catherine wasn't able to hide her surprise. "Yes, you've been out for awhile so I've had time to do my research."

The cigarette in the shadowed man's mouth burned red as he inhaled deeply and Catherine caught just a hint of his face. There was something wrong with it. But the minute light quickly faded and the man casually exhaled.

"It would seem Mr. Windsor is dead and there are no other living relatives. I don't think anyone is going to be paying for her. Besides, you know that's not what I'm referring to. The very fact that my men found you where they did means you know much more than you're letting on." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "And that they withheld more than I thought they did."

"They?" Catherine asked, eyes narrowing.

"The people that hired me to watch over that burned out military base nearly ten years ago. The people that told me if anyone ever came snooping around there to kill them on sight. The people that obviously didn't want me to know what they were doing there. What they had created. Because if I had, I probably wouldn't have taken the job, no matter how much money they offered. Because you see..." The man dropped his spent cigarette to the ground and stepped into the light, revealing his face and the large scars that ran across it, as if he had been mauled by an animal. "I have some experience in that area."


End file.
